


Just Looking

by hrhrionastar



Category: Legend of the Seeker
Genre: Episode: s01e08 Denna, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-22
Updated: 2011-07-22
Packaged: 2017-10-21 15:38:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/226790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hrhrionastar/pseuds/hrhrionastar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darken has some orders for Denna. She wants more details. Inspired by the quote, "He would make a lovely corpse." Possible beginning of the episode <i>Denna</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Looking

_“He would make a lovely corpse.”_

“You want me to…”

“Train the Seeker. Yes. Do I have to tell you more than once, Mistress Denna?” I said, understandably irritated.

“No, my Lord,” she said at once, looking apprehensive. As it should be. I will not be questioned by my Mord’Sith.

“My Lord?” she asked slyly after a moment. “How will I…recognize him?”

“How will you—of course,” I sighed. Recently, I’ve been practicing farseeing. It’s easy to get the general picture, but focusing on specific features, such as the Confessor’s eyes or that irritatingly compassionate, idiotic grin of the Seeker’s, is more difficult. And I’ve been allowing my Mord’Sith to get advance views of their targets in order to hone my skill. An indulgence, but why not?

I reached for my scrying mirror. It was a simple matter to summon the image of the Seeker and Confessor. The Wizard was nowhere to be seen, which explained the especial ease of the process; Wizards are notoriously difficult to scry, even if they don’t know anyone is looking. Indeed, I found it odd that the Wizard had not already attempted to block my scrying of his companions as well.

It would have been a futile endeavor, as blood calls to blood and there is nothing that could hide my _little brother_ (damn you, Father), the Seeker, from me.

Still, unless the Wizard knew of our unfortunate relation…

I put aside these aggravating thoughts and focused instead upon the Confessor. Although the Seeker is easier to scry, she is far more pleasant to look upon.

When I had gotten her eyes precisely, narrowed in some trifling annoyance as they were, I carefully ignored Denna’s faint sound of distaste and enhanced the Seeker’s image.

There he was, in all his pathetic do-gooder glory. I stared at him, trying to understand how easily everyone around him fell under that rescuing-kittens-in-trees, total-lack-of-original-thought spell. It had to be because he was a Rahl—our persuasive talents are famously expert, and he wastes them upon powerless village idiots. The fool.

“Ah,” I heard Denna’s quick intake of breath, and watched her out of the corner of my eyes.

“I know,” I drawled, “He _would_ make a lovely corpse, wouldn’t he?”

Denna laughed, then glanced over at me, looking worried.

“Ah, Mistress Denna,” I said, inwardly relieved that she had yet to show a weakening of resolve from the mere _sight_ of the Seeker. I caressed her cheek, thinking that, although she was nothing to my fiery Cara, Denna was still always one of my favorites. So thorough. “When I make an amusing remark, I expect my audience to laugh.” My eyes narrowed. “You will please me, Mistress Denna, won’t you? Train the Seeker well—make me proud.” And my fingers tightened against her cheek for a moment.

This solution was beautiful in its simplicity, if I did say so myself. The Seeker my willing slave would be far more useful to me than the Seeker dead. No doubt he could lead me to his companions as well, if they were not fool enough to try and _rescue_ him.

“Yes, my Lord,” Denna said, and I could read her devotion to me in her face. I released her. “At once, my Lord,” she said, pride that I had chosen _her_ to train the Seeker evident in her bearing. It was a natural choice—there are few so skilled with pain as Denna. She is so—patient.

She left, and I was reduced, much against my will, to further study, in my scrying mirror, of my nemesis. I allowed myself to brood on my father for awhile before taking one last, lingering look at the beautiful Confessor and returning my thoughts to the present.

I wouldn’t let myself dwell in daydreams.

 _(the Seeker’s dead body at my feet, the Confessor in my arms, my Father’s voice telling me he was proud of me…)_

I had work to do.


End file.
